


Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop

by SaraDobieBauer



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Armie Hammer - Freeform, Charmie, Coffee, Coffee Shops, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Secret Crush, Short One Shot, Timothee Chalamet - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25113640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraDobieBauer/pseuds/SaraDobieBauer
Summary: On Valentine's Day, Timmy is a heartbroken barista who’s just been dumped.His meddling sister decides to make it very clear to their customers that Timmy is single.Meanwhile …Armie, one of Timmy’s regulars for the past year, finally admits why he’s been coming back morning after morning.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 45
Kudos: 216





	Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop

**Author's Note:**

> It’s my day off, so I asked for one-shot prompts, and someone sent me the picture included in the collage below. (Another reader said this might have been done before, but this is my version.)
> 
> Based on the sign AND the Landon Pigg song, [“Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop.”](https://youtu.be/wXAGNzyUuAs)

“I never knew just what it was  
About this old coffee shop I love so much  
All of the while I never knew  
All of the while, all of the while it was you.”

\- Landon Pigg

As a romantic, Timmy loved Valentine’s Day. Just not that particular Valentine’s Day.

He’d slept badly the night before, calling his sister Pauline at 2 AM to say he was having a heart attack when he knew his heart wasn’t being attacked. His heart was broken, and it was affecting his sleep. It was affecting his everything. A law student at New York University, he couldn’t remember a single thing from his classes the day before. He didn’t know the last time he’d eaten. Now, he was late for work.

Apparently calling his big sister at 2 AM had thrown off her game, as well, because the usual A-frame chalkboard announcing the coffee shop’s daily specials was absent from the sidewalk. He only noticed because he usually ran into it on his way inside and no such disaster occurred that morning.

Dream Bean was already busy when he entered, so Timmy was quick to step around customers and drag his cross-body messenger bag over his head. He tossed it below the counter, along with his heavy winter coat, and entered the fray as two female coworkers offered harried nods in his direction.

He spotted Pauline handing a customer a scone with a smile. Her long hair flowed freely even though he knew the manager preferred it when she kept it pulled back.

Oh, yeah, Timmy was the manager, which he suspected annoyed his elder sibling, but they’d both admitted years ago that Timmy was the more responsible of the pair anyway.

He stepped up to the register and yelled, “Pauline, why isn't the sign out front?” before turning and smiling at a customer.

“I’ll get it,” she said with way more enthusiasm than he was used to.

And so the Saturday workday commenced, and Timmy did his best to forget his very, very recent breakup. He buried his ex’s voice beneath the echo of ground coffee beans and screaming, steaming milk.

It didn’t take long for Timmy to notice something suspicious was going on. It started when an older guy with close-cropped hair and dark eyes signed his credit card receipt … and kept writing. “There’s my number.” He winked.

Timmy took the piece of paper and said “oh-kay” as the stranger left. He shoved the receipt in the register drawer and forgot all about it until it happened again, this time with a guy Timmy’s own age, who barely made eye contact but reenacted the same routine.

Timmy was about to turn to Pauline, ask if this was some new Valentine’s Day thing. Were guys slipping her phone numbers, too? Before he could inquire, one of their regulars—at Dream Bean every morning—stepped in front of Timmy.

“Oh, hey, Armie.” He smiled and meant it for the first time that morning because Armie was one of his favorites: a sincerely nice guy who’d gushed the first time Timmy put a dash of cardamom on his café macchiato and had ordered the same drink ever since. He tipped well, too, and was easy on the eyes.

“Hey, Timmy.” Armie’s smile wasn’t as big and bright as usual. He shifted from foot to foot. Was he nervous? “Happy Valentine’s Day? I guess.”

Oh, right, that. Timmy frowned.

Armie’s brow furrowed. He reached a hand up as if to touch Timmy but refrained. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Nope.” He popped his lips and pasted a fake smile on his face. “Your usual?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Timmy lingered long enough to watch Armie pull his wallet from the back of his snug, faded jeans before turning toward the espresso machine. Timmy had been working at the coffee shop for two years, but he’d loved coffee since he was thirteen. He didn’t have to think to do his job; it was almost a reflex, which sadly gave him time to think about Liam and the bored look in his eyes when, two days before, he’d told Timmy, “I’m breaking up with you. I don’t want to have to fake loving you for Valentine’s Day.” Timmy clenched his jaw and closed his eyes just long enough to calm down and swallow the festering lump of emotion in his throat.

When he set the macchiato in front of Armie, the man’s small smile had dwindled to nothing, and he watched Timmy warily.

Timmy offered a tight-lipped grin. “Four-fifty.”

Armie gave him six bucks like he always did.

“Have a good Saturday,” Timmy said sincerely because his ill mood wasn’t Armie’s fault—Armie, who was always so sweet and laughed when Timmy tried joking around. Which was saying something. Timmy could be accidentally funny, but he was about as smooth as a brick road.

“Sure,” Armie said. “Thanks.” Instead of leaving, returning to a frigid New York day, Armie sat at the table nearest the counter. He unwound the scarf from around his neck and slumped in his seat, long legs stretched out in front of him but not far enough out to impede foot traffic.

The morning continued, Timmy’s mood getting worse and worse. He usually adored his job. Compared to his intense college courses, making coffee was like therapy—a chill, easy task that didn’t involve lengthy hours of studying social justice or preparing statements for his litigation class.

But it was Valentine’s Day, so half his customers were happy, smiling couples. A few women walked in blushing over bouquets of red roses. People kissing and canoodling surrounded him, and Timmy’s heart just _hurt._

When a third guy pulled the phone number-credit card receipt thing, though, Timmy felt his face go red as those damn roses. He wanted to snap at the guy, ask him who the fuck he thought he was. Timmy was about to do just that when Armie crowded up next to the stranger like he really, really needed a refill. The stranger must have gotten the hint—or noticed Armie’s massive size—because he left immediately.

“What?” Timmy snapped and was about to apologize when Armie leaned closer.

He whispered, “You don’t know about the sign outside, do you?”

“Huh? What sign?”

Pauline, who’d been flirting with a customer, all of a sudden decided it was very important she disappear into the stock room, which … uh-oh.

Timmy circled the counter, stomped past Armie, and stepped outside into a winter breeze that made him audibly shiver. Then, he noticed the previously missing A-frame chalkboard:

_“Today, your barista is:_

_1\. Hella fucking gay_

_2\. Desperately single_

_For your drink today, I recommend:_

_You give me your number.”_

Timmy covered his mouth with his hands. Beside the letters, Pauline had drawn a stick figure with Timmy’s crazy curls.

He leaned down and hugged the A-frame to his chest, indifferent to the chalk that would mar his dark green sweater. Dream Bean was slow by then, so he didn’t pass too many customers on his angry rampage to the stock room—although Armie had to jump out of the way to avoid being run over.

In the back, Pauline literally hid behind sleeves of light brown recyclable cups. She held her hands up. “Let me explain!”

Timmy threw the sign on the ground. “Are you kidding me with this?”

“No. Look …” She stepped out from her hiding spot and ran her fingers through her long, should-have-been-in-a-ponytail hair. “When you called me last night, you sounded so awful. And not just sad. You sounded, I don’t know, broken. What Liam did, the way he ended things, was just such fucking shit, you know? I thought it might be nice today—Valentine’s Day—for you to see how you’re so much better than him, see how many guys would love to date you.”

He hugged himself and dug his fingertips into his upper arms to keep from crying. “First of all, you had no right to put that sign up. Secondly, three. Only three guys gave me their numbers, Pauline.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d been doing that since they were kids, and Timmy hated it every time. She wrapped her fingers around his forearm and tugged. She tugged until they were through the swinging stock room door and back behind the counter.

Armie still stood in front of the register, leaned forward. Timmy got the feeling he would have come investigating if they hadn’t returned.

“Three,” Pauline muttered under her breath before reaching for the tip jar. She flipped it and poured its contents on the counter.

There were plenty of dollar bills, sure, but there were way more slips of paper.

Timmy picked one up. It featured a phone number, name, and note: “From the guy in the blue sweater. Call me, sweetie.”

_“Three?”_ Pauline snorted. “Yeah, three guys with balls. I’ve been watching the rest of them fill the tip jar all morning while giving you heart eyes.”

Timmy took a step back and curled his fist under his chin. He knew it was his nervous tell—Pauline had informed him of such in junior high—but knowing didn’t mean he could stop.

His sister picked up slip after slip of paper. “This one says Mike thinks you’re beautiful. Some guy named David wants to make you smile. Oh, and—”

Timmy felt the tears coming. His vision went blurry. Before he completely embarrassed himself, he fled to the stock room.

Pauline must have figured he needed some time, because she didn’t bother him for a good twenty minutes. Twenty minutes spent crying and laughing and crying some more, sitting on the floor with his legs folded beneath him and his hands covering his face.

When he heard footsteps, he moved his hands away.

But it wasn’t Pauline looming over him. It was Armie.

“Oh.” Timmy used his sweater to dry his face and pushed to stand. “Hey, um.”

“Pauline said I should come check on you.” Up close, he smelled like coffee and spicy aftershave and stood about half a foot taller than Timmy. His eyes were blue like a sunny sea.

“I’m …” Timmy looked at the floor and shook his head.

“She told me what your ex said.”

Hands on his hips, Timmy stomped one foot. “Jesus, could she be any more up in my business today?”

“Come have coffee with me. Pauline said she’d make your favorite.”

Timmy chuckled considering black French roast was his favorite and took no work at all to prepare. Armie, apparently in on the joke, smiled, revealing adorable eye wrinkles.

A neighborhood institution, Dream Beans was not corporate chic. All the tables and chairs were different, and the couches were probably from 1995. Timmy and Armie sat at a table with a blue and white tile top and mismatched chairs.

Timmy cupped his mug between his palms, and Armie sipped from a freshly made macchiato. He pushed his mug away and rested his elbows on the table. “What your ex said was really mean. You didn’t deserve that.”

Timmy shrugged. “At least he was honest.”

“No. He was mean.”

Timmy shrugged again.

“You’re a catch, Timmy. I think this morning proves that.”

He tugged the collar of his sweater. “I have the worst luck with love. I swear I pick the worst guys possible and am still shocked when they hurt me. Maybe I should just give up.”

Armie scoffed. “Give me your hand.”

“Hmm?”

“Give me your right hand.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Timmy did as requested, and Armie started inspecting his palm. He made little sounds of interest over quiet folk music played through the coffee shop speakers. He leaned closer to Timmy’s palm and ran his fingertips across the skin, somewhat dry and callused from both the weather and washing dozens of mugs.

“See?” Armie asked without looking up.

“See what?”

“Your love line. It’s prevalent. Long. Means you’re in for an amazing love story. You’ll find a guy who’ll see how great you are and treasure you. Soon, according to this.” He cupped Timmy’s hand between his own and looked up with a soft smile.

“I don’t believe in palm reading, Armie.”

“Good, because I don’t know how to palm read. I was just trying to make you feel better.”

Timmy giggled and pulled his hand back. “You’re ridiculous.”

Armie sighed, still smiling. “How long have I been coming to this coffee shop?”

Timmy paused to think. “About a year?"

“There are a million coffee shops in New York City. For a long time, I didn’t know what it was that kept bringing me back to this one.” He turned his mug on the table but didn’t take a sip.

“Cardamom?”

Armie grinned. “No, although that is a nice touch. No, Timmy, I come here because of you.” Armie took a deep breath. “And it’s not because we have long, meaningful conversations. I barely know you at all. It’s the way you are with people, the way you move, the way you do everything with such enthusiasm. In this big city full of distraction … you’re my favorite thing to watch.”

Timmy released his mug when he realized he was holding it way too hard. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, and then, I saw that sign today and thought I might have a chance, but all those guys were buzzing around you.” He tilted his head back and smiled at the ceiling. “And you had no idea.” He laughed.

Timmy groaned “Was it really that bad?”

Armie kept laughing. “Yes, yes, it was. One of them could have lit your name in fireworks, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“I guess I was thinking about Liam and Valentine’s Day and … I guess I was focused on being miserable.”

Armie lifted one shoulder. “An easy thing to do. Especially today. So are you going to call any of your innumerable fans?”

Timmy, whose shoulders had been up around his ears due to embarrassment and a really weird morning, felt himself relax. He stopped clenching his jaw and sagged into his chair, all while watching Armie play with an unused napkin and avoid eye contact.

“No,” Timmy said quietly. “No, I’m not going to call any of those random guys.”

“Oh.” Armie cleared his throat and still wouldn’t look at Timmy.

So Timmy leaned his torso over the table, swooped low to reach Armie’s pouty expression, and kissed him. In the middle of his place of employment, Timmy didn’t go for tongue, but he opened his mouth and pushed just enough to make it less of a peck and more an appetizer to the meal that would come later.

Armie pulled back, tilted his head the other way, and kissed Timmy again with the same promise of more. One of his hands cupped Timmy’s jaw, and he grinned like a goose as Timmy sank back into his seat.

They glanced away from each other, and then back again, both biting back giggles while toying with their respective coffee mugs.

“Um,” Timmy said.

“So,” Armie replied.

“I guess Pauline’s stupid sign worked.”

Armie’s foot tapped Timmy’s beneath the table. “Not quite.”

“What?”

“You still don’t have my number.”

Timmy tipped his head back and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](http://saradobiebauer.tumblr.com/)! I'm ridiculously in love with Timmy over there.


End file.
